


build a home

by jeannbeann



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Askr is one big home for a bunch of ppl trying to make the best of a new situation, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Multi, heroes will be tagged when they pop up in each chapter, im not really good with requests but im always open to suggestions or ideas!!!, it's hero-loving hours here in this house, kiran will vary from my interpretation of my own summoner to a general one depending on the drabble, no beta i am still prepared to embrace my typos and take them with me to the void, rating will change if anything else happens but other things to likely watch out for:, the emphasis is on building a home here, this will range anywhere from fluff to angst to silliness and more, time for me to dump all my drabbles for this mobile game in one place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25353349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannbeann/pseuds/jeannbeann
Summary: You square your shoulders. “I have to be the one to build a home here,” you say, firmly. “There’s too much going on to let myself feel miserable about missing my own world! I’ll always miss home—” you still can’t think about your mom without your eyes burning all over again, “—but Askr is our home now, too, isn’t it? I gotta make the best of it!”/A series of drabbles surrounding life in Askr, its Heroes, and its Summoner.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy being away from home, most of all in a world at war.
> 
> ///
> 
> Characters: Kiran-centric

The feeling, you think, has always been there.

It hangs off you, clinging to your robes whenever you find yourself hurrying to another meeting. It tugs at the back of your mind whenever you’re out on the field, calling out orders from your usual spot well behind the vanguard. It weighs down in your chest whenever your phone chimes and you brighten expectantly, only to realize that there are no new notifications—only another alarm buzzing that you’re late to a meeting.

It just takes you a little while to actually put a name to it. You’re homesick, and you think you always have been.

Askr is nice, of course. By now, you’re well-accustomed to life in the kingdom. It’s been three years since you were whisked away here and had Breidablik pressed into your hands. It feels odd to remember a time when you only scrambled to wake up and hurry about your tiny apartment to get dressed for work in the mornings. Now, your days are full of strategy, meetings, tactics, and more meetings, with the occasional battle thrown in-between. You’re in charge of an entire army, full of heroes of legend and myth. You live in a _castle._ This isn’t anything like back home, but you’ve resolved to make a home out of it nonetheless. You have to. You can’t go home, not yet, not while your friends still need you here; not while the _Summoner_ is still needed to cleave a path to victory.

(It’s a revolution that always makes the feeling claw into your throat, cold and thick, until you can scarcely swallow it back down. Guilt drags it back to the pit of your gut. You wish that you could say, confidently, that you’re staying because you never want to leave—but that’s not true and you don’t want to lie to your friends. Not about this. You know just as well as they do that Breidablik is the key to Askr having any chance of prospering in the future battles to come, the only thing tying Heroes to the kingdom in the first place; and you're the only one capable of wielding it in order to do so.

They never ask, though. You wonder if they know that they wouldn't like the answer, but you never allow yourself to think about it for too long. You're not brave enough to.)

You resolve to handle it. You’ve always been good at buckling down and handling things, most of all when there is so much more work to do. There is no time to pause and fret over your own problem, most of all when it isn’t much of a problem to begin with. You’re happy in Askr. You’re happy with your friends. You’re happy to help. It’s only natural you feel homesick, being in a world leagues away from your own.

The feeling, you tell yourself, will pass. Most days, that’s enough to perk yourself up and carry on.

The days it’s _not_ enough—those are the hardest. You learn as much when one day, it hits you while you’re away in another Askr, in a strategy meeting for an upcoming Rival Domains.

At first, you only check your phone for a photo you took of Robin’s notes; he had been kind enough to jot down some recommendations on how to traverse the terrain for the skirmish, which is suspected to be set in Ylisse. You scroll through your albums, tapping your pen against your papers restlessly. The room is already bustling, full of other Summoners who have dropped by for the strategy meeting. The amiable chattering around you settles in your ears as white noise, a mesh of voices. You aren’t in a mood to try and socialize. Your head is pounding. You’ve had a headache all day, likely from running from errand to errand. You haven’t had much time to rest, let alone eat. Your work comes first, you stubbornly tell yourself and your grumbling stomach.

You click your tongue in frustration, thumb swiping through your multitude of pictures. Your albums have been _packed_ since the fateful day Sharena discovered your phone’s ability to take pictures in the first place. You even see an array of selfies taken by a gleeful Delthea who swiped your phone the other day to pose with as many Heroes as she could. You scroll down further and further, torn between amusement and exasperation over how _many_ pictures there are. You’ll have to delete them later—most of them anyway. Truth be told, you like collecting snapshots of life here, too…just perhaps not thousands of them.

Eventually, though, you grow tired of searching through said snapshots and you huff out a resigned sigh. The meeting is about to begin, so you’ll just have to grin and bear it. You move your phone to shutter it off, only for your finger to brush over a picture near the bottom. It enlarges automatically and _that’s_ when you see it: a picture of an older woman smiling back at you, eyes crinkled as she holds up a cake topped with fresh mango. It makes your breath catch and a memory immediately floods back to you of rushing around town to find that exact cake, knowing it was your mother’s favourite—

_Mom_ , you think, the single word making something in your chest immediately seize with a powerful pang.

“Kay? You alright?”

You startle. Your phone clatters to the table, and you fumble to grab it back up. Reflexively, you flip it over so the screen is pressed to the tabletop, too frazzled to think of switching it off altogether.

“Sorry, sorry, I-I was just—it wasn’t—” you stammer, grasping for words. You look up and immediately recognize soft, too-kind green eyes: Rin, one of your closest friends, another summoner from another Askr. The genuine concern in his face makes your throat tighten. _Uh-oh,_ you think, already wavering. You try to force yourself to breathe, but it’s too late. When you blink, you feel something wet and warm trickle down your cheeks, and panic blooms in your chest. There are still so many people here. You shouldn’t cry, you don’t _want_ to cry, but you think of your mom and—

Rin’s brow furrows slightly. He gives a quick glance around before he steps closer. He’s normally shorter than you, but with you sitting, he blocks the rest of the room out altogether. You’re confused when he puts aside his stack of papers—he’s always far better prepared for these things than you are—and promptly tugs your hood down. His hand curls around your arm, despite your startled splutter. He tugs.

“Up you get,” he tells you. “C’mon now.”

You don’t trust your voice to speak. Instead, you stand, keeping your phone in a vicegrip as you go.

He tugs you along with him. You hear him greeting other Summoners politely as he maneuvers you both through the room. You keep your head down, your hood well over your eyes. You tower over the majority of them and your heart thumps uncomfortably at the idea of any of them looking up to see you a mess. It’s nerve-wracking. You have the reputation of your Askr to uphold. The last thing you want is for it to be remembered for its crybaby of a Summoner.

It isn’t until you hear the click of the strategy room’s door shutting behind you that you dare to look up. Rin frowns back at you. “Alright, take a breath,” he says, voice a steadying echo in the empty hallway. “You’ve got time to collect yourself here, okay? I’ll keep an eye out for anyone else that shows up.”

You nod miserably and rub at your face with your sleeve. You must look horrible. You certainly feel it; your head is still pounding now, more than ever. Your phone is a staggering weight in your pocket, and your heart squeezes with a fresh wave of emotion when you realize you never closed the album app. That picture will still be there the next time you open your phone.

“Sorry,” you mutter. Friend or not, you feel foolish for getting him involved in your own issues. You breathe shakily. “I-I think I’ll be okay. You…you should go back in, the meeting’s probably starting—”

“And just leave you out here? Forget it. I’m stayin’, so long as you’re alright with me here,” he says. When you give another jerky nod, he relaxes and musters up a tiny smile. “And hey, it’s not like we’re missing much. By this point, the others have to realize Niles and I will roll with whatever strategy works best. I’m sure you and Haar probably have the same mindset.”

That earns him a small smile in reply. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to lighten the ache, just a little. A companionable silence falls between you, broken only by your sniffling. You know Rin will never push for an answer as to why you suddenly burst into tears during an innocuous strategy meeting. You’re almost tempted to leave it that way, but you know that there’s probably nobody else in all of Askr—in any Askr—that will actually understand what you’re feeling other than him (and the countless _other_ Summoners leagues away from their own homes).

So, you swallow hard and tell him, your voice coarse, “I saw a picture.” You reach down to open your phone. The moment the screen bubbles past its lockscreen, you catch a glimpse of your smiling mom for a split second before you quickly twist it away to show him instead. You don’t say another word. You see the understanding blossom in his face anyway.

“Ah,” he says after a long moment. His expression softens, sympathy flicking through his eyes. “One of those days, huh? I feel that. I’m pretty sure everyone here has, at least once.” He takes your phone. His smile quirks up a little. “She’s pretty. Your mom?”

That narrowly makes you want to cry again. You grab your phone back and sniff. “Yeah,” is all you can manage, thumb fumbling across the screen to make the album app vanish back to your home-screen’s wallpaper. It’s a picture of Genarog sleeping and curled up next to Haar’s wyvern. It makes you feel marginally better, but only a bit. Your shoulders slump. “I’m…I’m _tired_ , Rin.”

He nods quietly. Inside the room, you hear the distant echo of voices. Your stomach churns at realizing you’re both missing the meeting, but you can’t will your feet to carry you back inside.

“Me too,” he finally admits, gaze faraway as he looks out one of the hallway’s grandiose windows. “I miss home. I miss my family, I miss my dogs…I miss being able to spend just one day without worrying about sending my close friends off to another battle, while I have to stay on the sidelines. Quite frankly, I’m not tired. I’m _exhausted_.” He heaves a weary sigh and runs a hand through his hair. He snorts humourlessly. “Did you know I even asked Eliwood to train me? It came in handy, mind you, when Morgan got in trouble during a battle, but it also got me _this_ for my troubles, too.”

He gestures to his face and you catch the faded, barely noticeable scar bridging his nose. You wince. “What did Niles say?” you ask, genuinely curious. The bond between the vagabond and the Summoner before you runs deep; you’ve never seen the thief so genuinely captivated with someone other than Leo before. You can only imagine the consternation the man went through at seeing Rin actually get injured in a fight.

You catch the flush that streaks along the man’s nose, settling into his cheeks. “He…wasn’t thrilled,” he mutters, gaze dancing away from yours in embarrassment. He clears his throat. “Nevermind that, though. The point is…you’re not the only one who feels that way. There’s no telling when any of us will be able to go back, but you should take some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one who finds that _terrifying_. Just—go easy on yourself, okay? You got people around you to help you weather the storm. The heroes we summon feel just as homesick as we do, but the good thing is we can all shoulder the weight of that together. It’s cheesy, sure, but true.” He pauses. His lips twitch into a smile, warmer than his last one, edging into genuine fondness. “Trust me, I learned that just recently.”

“Weather the storm, huh,” you echo faintly, considering the words. _Weather the storm. Buckle down and make the best of it._ Your eyes drop down to your phone, gazing down at the dark screen. You think of the picture of your mom. You think of the hundred of other newer pictures inside, ranging anywhere from pictures of Alfonse—the majority embarrassing, due to being Sharena’s handiwork—to picturesque scenes of Askr. You don’t have many of yourself, though, most of all with other Heroes; the realization makes you tighten your grip. “You’re right, Rin. With everything that's happened, all the wars, all the fights, I think I forgot something important.”

Rin tilts his head, curiously. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You square your shoulders. “I have to be the one to build a home here,” you say, firmly. “There’s too much going on to let myself feel miserable about missing my own world! I’ll always miss home—” you still can’t think about your mom without your eyes burning all over again, “—but Askr is our home now, too, isn’t it? I gotta make the best of it!”

“Well, sure,” Rin agrees, blinking at your abrupt burst of enthusiasm. He considers it thoughtfully. “That's...one way to put it, right.”

“Right,” you confirm with a nod. It still hurts to think of home, but the sting is already ebbing down to a dull ache. You pocket your phone and suck in a deep breath. “Okay. I—I’m good. I’m ready. Thanks, Rin, honestly. I…I feel much better after that.”

The man looks relieved. “That’s good to hear. What are friends for, right?”

You throw him a watery grin. “Absolutely,” you agree. Then you pause and glance back towards the door. Your expression hardens with determination. “I’ll start by going back to the meeting.”

“Kay,” Rin points out gently, “your eyes are still really puffy. The meeting isn’t going anywhere, you know.”

You sniffle. _One step at a time_ , you remind yourself. “…I’ll start by catching up on the meeting, after I go and wash up a little,” you amend weakly.

Rin’s laughter is warm and bright. It echoes down the hallway, and you feel a bit better just hearing it. Your head is still pounding. Your eyes still sting. Your chest still aches. Nonetheless, it makes you think you can do this.

It makes you feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super-duper special thanks to [angrymiqote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angrymiqote/pseuds/angrymiqote)! his summoner, affectionately nicknamed 'Rin', appeared in this story as the voice of reason to my emotional kiran! hes also a fantastic writer, so pls go check out his stuff!!! i even referenced some of it from one chapter of his drabble series, found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308656/chapters/58599871). 
> 
> ~~also i relate to my summoner because if i was flung into another world full of war and magic and shit, you bet my grown adult ass would be crying over missing my mom~~
> 
> so... yeah. this is more of an intro to a longer drabble series, just because i really do need a place to dump all my stories in without flooding the tag with 59854793753457 drabbles!! some may be connected, but for the most part, it's all open from here. im looking forward to writing silly little stories for FEH instead of stressing over stand-alone oneshots and multi-chaptered stories! ~~(stares at W &W)~~ i think we need more wholesome drabbles around, not just in this fandom, but in general to handle how crazy things have gotten in the world. 
> 
> as always, thank you to everyone who reads my work and esp to everyone who leaves kudos or comments! i platonically adore you all to the depths of my heart. you are the reason I'm brave enough to even throw my work out there for people to read!!
> 
> I can't promise to write every one, but please feel free to leave prompts and ideas here or on my [twitter](http://twitter.com/jeann_eh). (twitter's probably a safer bet since im always lingering on there anyway like a gremlin) otherwise, catch you on the next update!!


	2. sweet dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peony means well in bringing good dreams to all the Heroes in Askr. She learns sometimes it's not that simple.  
> ///
> 
> Characters: Peony, Eir, Mirabilis, Haar, Kiran (mentioned: Cormag, Hrid, Lukas)  
> Pairing: none

Dreams are lovely things. Good dreams, Peony thinks, are even lovelier. She wishes fervently that every Hero could have good dreams, every night. It’s the least they deserve after fighting so many hard and bleak, brutal battles. There is no need for their dreams to add to the burdens they face in reality. A good night’s sleep is _irreplaceable_.

Or so Peony tells herself when she finds herself fluttering through the dreams that ebb and bubble to the surface during Askr’s quiet nights. The castle is brimming with them, some happy, some sad, some endearingly funny. She adores them all. People are always so vibrant in their dreams—always so full of _life_ and adventure—even if they never quite show that same brilliance while awake. Peony wishes they would; people always seem to tuck away their innocent shine, the same they carried as a child, once they reach a certain age. The majority of them never even remember their dreams, which Peony thinks is a terrible shame.

Sometimes, however, Peony realizes why some don’t remember.

She frowns, floating at the edge of one dream that’s already teetering on the dismal edge of a nightmare. The Ljósálfar’s skin crawls the moment she dares to slip into the dream. The air is cold. The world is stiflingly silent and grey. Peony feels her heart sink at the sheer lack of life or colour to be found anywhere. The flowers are dead at her feet, the trees are withered, and the skies are a muted black.

_Oh dear,_ she thinks, clutching her Flower of Joy close. _This isn’t very happy at all._

There’s a flash of silver that catches her eye and she twists around to find a woman knelt in the meadow of dead flowers. Peony brightens at seeing her: Eir, the princess from Hel. They haven’t spoken much—Eir prefers to keep to herself—but Peony prides herself on being a good judge of character; she knows that the princess is gentle, kind and sweet. She seems to love flowers, too. Peony always catches glimpses of her in the castle gardens during her afternoon strolls, taken at the same time every day; the princess always seems relaxed, happy even, to simply walk amongst the flowers. It’s a stark contrast compared to the Eir she sees now, her expression resigned as she quietly attempts to string together a crown made of withered posies.

“Flowers, huh?” the Ljósálfar hums, magic already sparking to life at her fingertips. Her Flower of Joy glows, illuminating the bleak air with a flash. Peony beams. “I can work with that!”

She spins her Flower of Joy around, her laughter a tinkling chime as her magic flits over the meadow in a shower of golden drops. She weaves some of the finest flowers she can think of, willing more and more to pop up with every blip of her magic. Roses, posies, tulips, lilies, daffodils, daisies, hydrangeas—the names tumble from her mind and are woven into reality, springing up from the field in bursts of bright colours and velvety petals. By the time she finishes her twirling, the meadow is a sea of colour; a stark refuge of life in Hel’s bleak wasteland.

Eir sits in the middle of it all, stunned. Even the flowers in her crown have new life breathed into them, twined together in shades of pink.

“How…” Peony hears the princess begin to ask breathlessly, before the Ljósálfar has to duck away out of sight. She watches as Eir glances around her, puzzled, before she turns back to the flowers. She runs her fingers over a few next to her. Slowly, a smile spreads across her face, genuine and warm; it’s the best gift the Ljósálfar can ask for.

_Why stop here, though?_ Peony thinks, biting back a giggle as she conjures up another spell. She’s seen how happy the princess is whenever she’s around Sharena. The Askrian princess is always a bundle of joy and life, genuinely fun and bright to be around; Eir is always smiling around her. _One dreamt-up Sharena coming riiiiiight—_

“Peony?”

Peony squeaks, dropping her Flower of Joy in her shock. It tumbles to the ground, but rights itself before it can hit the dirt and flutters back up to float around its wielder. “Ooh, Mira!” she pouts, spinning to face her sleepy-eyed friend. “Don’t _do_ that! You gave me such a fright!”

Mirabilis makes a face back at her. “I was calling you for the past minute, you know,” she points out drowsily. She rubs at her eyes with a baggy sleeve, and peers around her blearily. “Are you…messing with people’s dreams again?”

“You say that as if it’s a terrible thing I’m doing,” Peony points out sullenly. “What’s wrong with giving people nice dreams?”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with it, per se,” her friend considers it thoughtfully, “but you really ought to be careful anyways. I’m not sure how—” she pauses to yawn, “—all these Heroes would feel knowing that we can fly in and out of their dreams, all willy-nilly.”

It’s a good point. As disappointing as it is for people not to remember their dreams, it comes with an additional perk of them never recalling the existence of the Ljósálfar within them. Adults certainly wouldn’t believe in them. “I’m always careful,” Peony insists stubbornly. “It’s not just _willy-nilly_ , you meanie! Besides, look how happy Eir is now!”

She gestures back to where the princess is now spinning in the field, laughing with genuine delight. She trips at one point, but Peony still hears her giggling as she lands in the bed of flowers. She looks back at Mirabilis pointedly, wings flittering proudly.

Her friend only sighs. “You always do great work, Peony, but that’s not what I mean. Come on, let’s just go, okay?”

“But I still have to— _ow_! Hey!”

Mirabilis doesn’t wait. Instead, she grabs her by the wing and tugs gently until the dream melts away back into the grounding reality of Askr. They wind up atop one of the castle’s roofs; directly above the chambers where Eir is likely sleeping. Peony’s wing twitches out of her friend’s grasp and she frowns at her.

“Party pooper,” she mutters.

“Mortals want to dream all the time, even while they’re awake,” Mirabilis points out. “You’re always so kind, Peony, but just remember that not all dreams are going to be…good.” She blinks sleepily. “People need the bad ones sometimes, too, and…and…I forgot what else I was going to say. I’m _so_ tired. How can you jump from other people’s dreams all night without getting sleepy, Peony? I feel like I’m going to pass out at any…moment…now…”

And, as if on command, she dozes off. Peony is always impressed by her friend’s ability to fall asleep anywhere, even while flying. The roof, however, is no place for anyone to sleep, even a drowsy little Ljósálfar. Peony sighs and takes her hand, tugging her along with her as she floats them both back down to the castle courtyards. She’ll take Mirabilis back to her room where she can sleep the rest of the night away—and probably well into the morning and afternoon tomorrow, too.

_Not all dreams are going to be good,_ she thinks, mulling over her friend’s words as she tucks her into bed. She frowns. _Oh, how I wish that wasn’t true!_

Still, she knows better. There’s a reason King Freyr always insists they walk a fine line of tranquility and balance between dreams and nightmares. He’s told them all that they need each other; that it’s always necessary to have the bad to see the good in return. Peony tells herself as much.

She flutters back to her own bed. Absently, she remembers the look of joy on Eir’s face as she spun in a sea of vibrant flowers, and her own heart warms. No matter what, she’s glad she helped make that happen.

She falls asleep with a smile of her own on her face.

///

Peony is convinced Mirabilis is the sleepiest being she has ever met. Then she meets Haar.

The Ljósálfar is baffled when she realizes that the man is sleeping on his wyvern. He’s even made himself comfortable from where he’s sprawled back atop his steed, his head pillowed by his hands. His axe—which looks like a _shovel_ —is tucked on his wyvern’s saddle, well within arm’s reach. He makes no move to hold it, though. Instead, he dozes peacefully, even as his wyvern flies them both into battle. He doesn’t even dream. She takes a tiny peek and finds that his mind is an even pool, undisturbed by even the incoming chaos of battle. 

“Um, hello? Mister?” Peony calls, wings flitting anxiously. There are enemies up ahead, after all. They’re in the middle of an Arena run. “Mister Haar?”

“Don’t call me mister,” comes the drowsy response. He doesn’t even crack open his eye at her. “What is it?”

Peony blinks. “Well, nothing really,” she admits honestly. “I was just worried since I saw you napping while the enemy’s so close by! Oh, not that there’s anything _wrong_ with that. I love sleeping, you know. All Ljósálfar do! I just don’t think that humans are very good at fighting when they’re in the middle of—” Haar yawns. She blinks again. “—um, a nap.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, noncommittally. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but is that it? I still have a few minutes of sleep before the enemy reaches us. Can’t do that with you chatting my ear off.”

“He’ll be fine, you know,” comes another voice and Peony twists around to see a blue wyvern glide down next to them. Cormag nods at her shortly in a polite greeting, shouldering the massive lance he’s wielding—or at least, Peony thinks it’s a lance. She’s never considered flowers to be a weapon, but Askr is always full of endearingly strange new things. “He might look like he’s slacking off, but I’ve learned he’s more than capable of holding his own. It’s best to leave him be.”

“Really?” Peony is unconvinced.

“Really,” Cormag deadpans, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “If you need convincing, just stay back and watch. Sometimes, Genarog and I just sit back and let him do all the heavy lifting.”

That earns him a snort from the allegedly snoozing man. “And you call me lazy,” Haar mutters.

Peony is confused, but still flutters back to watch when an enemy approaches: Lukas, who paints a forebodingly serious figure. His Daybreak Lance gleams as he charges, expression a mask of hardened determination, but it’s little use; it scarcely dents the armour of the dracoknight’s wyvern, despite Lukas’ better effort to cut through. Then, before the enemy can even try to double back and rethink his strategy, Haar is already sitting up on his wyvern. He strikes down the knight with two swift swings of his axe-shovel, and the enemy vanishes.

Peony stares. Haar only heaves a sigh and grumbles to himself as he tries to get comfortable lying down again. His wyvern trills at him, seemingly amused by his nap being interrupted, unfazed when he mutters something about ‘ _quiet, you overgrown gecko_ ’.

Cormag shrugs. “See?”

“Wow!” Peony brightens instantly, awestruck. “I _do_ see! You’re incredible, Mister Haar!”

Haar makes a face as he tries to slide his axe back into its holster. When he can’t do so without sitting up again, he decides to simply hold it; he seems resigned to tolerate the minor inconvenience. “Still not a mister,” he reminds her dryly, flicking her a look. Then his one green eye slides shut and he promptly dozes off all over again—only this time, Peony senses the edges of a dream settling over him as he falls into slumber.

_I wonder what someone like him would even dream about?_ Peony wonders, curious despite herself. She glances around the battlefield. She spots the Nifl prince, Hríd, already handling an enemy Lugh on the other side of the field, Kiran cheering him on nearby; Cormag has left to fly up ahead and make quick work of the remaining Heroes, an enemy Olivia and Legault. Her heart jumps hopefully. _I have time for a quick little peek…_

Excited, she reaches out to the edges of the man’s subconscious. It’s warm and steady, and she’s hit with a wave of nostalgia the moment she settles inside the dream. It’s a memory, she thinks, squinting curiously at the training grounds that slowly form around her. There are wyverns all around, being trained alongside their riders. Among them stands a young man, scarcely a teenager, holding his head high as he listens to a taller man with bright, vibrant hair. The redheaded man carries himself with an air of authority, but Peony can see the warmth there, too. It bubbles all around, most of all around the young man, whose green eyes gleam with near-pride as he’s given a set of black armour by the general—

_Shiharam,_ comes the name, unbidden, to her mind. This is someone important to Haar. This is someone he respects above all else. Her heart thumps with joy and she fiddles with her own magic, wavering on whether or not to interfere in the dream. It’s already a pleasant memory, but she senses a lot of sadness and regret lingering around all the memories of Shiharam, too. Haar lost him too soon, too abruptly, to grieve so maybe if she just—

The joy freezes as the young man stills and turns to look directly at her.

Almost instantly, the dream becomes stilted; the people all around them draw to a stop. General Shiharam is paused in mid-motion of ruffling Haar’s hair. The young Haar only stares at her, puzzled at first and then with a startling clarity that makes Peony instantly regret ever peeking. She fumbles for words, her Flower of Joy already ebbing with energy to make a quick escape, but it’s not needed. There’s a push from somewhere she can’t see, stubborn and unyielding, until the dream is melting away. The world comes spinning back all at once. She gasps the moment she finds herself back on the battlefield.

The battle is seemingly won by now. Kiran is already hurrying towards them, a smile on her face, but Peony barely notices. She feels two feet tall under the look Haar is pinning her with, his single green eye narrowed as he stares her down. She shrinks in on herself and musters up an apology. “Um…I-I’m…sorry, Mister Haar. I didn’t—I only—”

Haar’s expression is steely. He doesn’t look angry, but there’s a cold, guarded fury brimming beneath his seemingly calm exterior. Peony now knows that he’s a man who doesn’t need to wear his emotions on his sleeve to still be seen as dangerous; he isn’t just the seemingly sleepy, lazy man everyone pins him as. “Don’t call me mister,” he finally says, voice flat. He sits up slowly, taking the reins of his wyvern. He looks away from her. “Word of advice: don’t go snooping around in other people’s dreams, either. Some things are better left private.”

And with that, he flies away from her. Peony stammers out another apology as he passes, but he doesn’t so much as glance back at her. It makes guilt flip-flop in the Ljósálfar’s gut, heavy and cold.

_I’m not sure how all these Heroes would feel knowing that we can fly in and out of their dreams, all willy-nilly._ Mirabilis’ words come back to her.

Peony wishes, desperately, she had listened to her friend better.

///

A day later, she finds the finest pillow she can track down in her world (despite Mirabilis’ sleepy protests that _she_ can use it and add it to her already staggering collection). It's stuffed with special silk spun out of the finest and rarest flowers in her own realm, and soft as a cloud. She’s resolved to apologize properly. The pillow is only a way to show that she’s truly sorry for putting her nose somewhere it certainly didn’t belong, regardless of how good her intentions might have been.

Kiran helps to make the apology actually happen; Peony doubts the dracoknight would willingly come otherwise. The Summoner brings a reluctant Haar after her to the gardens that night, where Peony waits anxiously. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she smiles sheepishly, her hand wrapped around the dracoknight’s as she pulls him along. Her height and size are likely working in her favour; Haar doesn’t seem to be making it easy for her to drag him in the first place. “We got caught-up a bit because—”

“I didn’t want to come,” Haar finishes smoothly. He ignores Kiran’s scandalized stare, and goes on with a sigh, “Look, there’s no need for any of this. You made a mistake, I told you not to do it again, and that’s it. I don’t need a big display of regret, so if that’s what you’re planning…” He makes a face. “Please don’t.”

Peony immediately forgets her succinct speech in favour of letting all her words spill out at once. “I’m still very, very sorry! I didn’t mean to pry! I just always get so curious over people and their dreams, because mortals are always so wonderfully complex and vibrant and—oh, um, wait, no. No big display, right? Okay! Okay. I can do that,” she breathes deeply and holds out the pillow with a flourish. “I’m sorry, Haar! Please, take this pillow as a symbol of my deepest and most sincere apology!”

A pause falls over them. Haar considers the pillow thoughtfully, before he slowly reaches out to take it with his free hand. He looks at her, considering. Peony stares back, brimming with nervous hope.

“Thanks,” he finally says with a small nod. His lips twitch into the smallest of smiles. “For the apology, the pillow, _and_ for finally dropping the ‘mister’.”

Peony brightens with relief. Kiran seems pleased, too, if the way she nudges Haar with a grin is any indication. She releases his hand, and watches fondly as the the dracoknight yawns and mutters something about going to test his new pillow out. He mumbles a quick ‘night’, waving sleepily as he turns to leave. Peony is pleased to note that it’s directed to both of them, pleased to chime a cheerful 'sweet dreams!' of her own after his retreating back.

“You okay?” Kiran asks once he’s gone. The Ljósálfar turns back to see the Summoner looking back at her. “I’m glad it all worked out, but I’ve never seen you look so shaken-up before. Did Haar say something to you before?”

“Mmm, it’s more like…what he _didn’t_ say. It was my fault, poking into his memories, just because he was dreaming and I was curious,” she fiddles with her thumbs, ashamed. She settles down on one of the garden benches with a sigh, wings fluttering atop her back. “He could’ve yelled at me for snooping around in his dreams, but he didn’t. I knew he was angry enough to do it, but he just…left. I felt terrible.”

Kiran musters up a sympathetic grimace. “Yeah, well, Haar isn’t big on emotional displays in the first place,” she points out. “Good on you for apologizing, though. I think he’s relieved for it, too. It’s always better when we can all talk things out and settle it amicably.” She hesitates a fraction then takes a seat next to her. “Peony?”

The Ljósálfar smiles back at her. “Yes?”

“I think it’s always better to check before you fiddle with someone’s dreams,” the Summoner admits with a nod, “but if you ever feel like bringing a bit of cheer to someone’s sleep, I could definitely use some.” Her shoulders slump and her expression turns distant as she looks up at the night sky. It’s a clear night tonight, brimming with stars. Peony has an inkling the Summoner is looking past the twinkling lights, though. “I really miss home.”

Peony is tempted to tell her, _but you are home, silly!_ She knows better, though. She’s seen plenty of dreams around the castle, all lovely in their own little way. She’s caught glimpses of the Summoner’s dreams, each tinged with an aching longing for a world full of strange buildings and stranger contraptions rolling around. The Ljósálfar’s heart goes out to her just thinking about it.

She leans against her. Kiran is warm. “I’d be happy to bring you the sweetest dreams I can, Kiran.”

That earns a huff of laughter and a soft, near-watery word of thanks.

It’s more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~//barrels through the fandom with my haar agenda// my sleepy mans is gonna show up a lot in this story and you cant stop me~~  
>    
> 
> 
> I MANAGED AN UPDATE. WITHIN A DAY. HOLY SHIT
> 
> this was inspired by the adorable little FEH comic where Peony gives Yarne the sweetest little dream of not being the only taguel left. my goblin brain took it and ran with it to explore the idea that Peony and the Ljósálfar in general would be super curious over people dreaming - then I thought of the sleepiest man alive haar and VOILA ... this thing was born!! I love Peony dearly, but I know i'd be weirded out over someone seeing my dreams. she means well, though
> 
> eir also deserves all the flowers, every last one of them
> 
> also, the formatting is doodoo on this website ..... pls AO just add an indent function, pls;;;;
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!! every kudos and comment makes me thrive!


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